


Like a Mountain

by TheFantabulousPandemonium



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Age Difference, Almost Courting Gifts, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Character, Autistic Newt Scamander, Gen, Hippogriffs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Neurodivergent Newt Scamander, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Self-Esteem Issues, Sensory Hell, Special Interests, Stimming, Theseus is a Stressed Ray of Sunshine, Trust Issues, and did math for this, sensory issues, so many issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 06:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10679322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFantabulousPandemonium/pseuds/TheFantabulousPandemonium
Summary: Newt had always been a bit....Odd.All the stories he'd told the younger that morning still didn't explain why Theseus thought it pertinent to bring a stranger into their home.And an American, no less.





	Like a Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> might have a second part sometime in the future but idk man

Newt had always been a bit....

Odd.

Theseus told him Father was the first to say aloud what they all knew, with an insensitive question over dinner when he was still young enough to not remember. Something about 'getting the damned boy to a mind healer'. With his brother's descriptions, it almost felt like he was there. He didn't quite remember much of his childhood outside of hazy memories and stories, unless he had a photograph or portrait handy, but the hippogriffs were clearest. Theseus said Newt had basically grown up with some sort of creature in his hands, or was curled under the wings of Mother's herd.

That never failed to bring a smile to his face, and he half-suspected that was the only reason his brother even brought the subject up at all. All the stories he'd told the younger that morning still didn't explain why Theseus thought it pertinent to bring a stranger into their home.

And an _American_ , no less.

Not that he had any problems with Americans. They were perfectly pleasant, if a bit unconventional and startlingly bold, and far from the suffocating standards of pureblood traditions. If it had been any other circumstance, any other place, he might have actually spoken cordially with the older man.

But Theseus knew how he felt about strangers. Especially unexpected strangers he was left alone with for an indeterminable amount of time and expected to entertain with polite conversations. Newt didn't do any of those, for any length of time.

And to give him tea in one of the cups firmly meant for family members?

Theseus had crossed himself off his mental list of Acceptable People for the time being. Newt clutched his own cup closer, drawing his legs underneath him and pointedly not caring about etiquette or his ruffled appearance from digging through their garden for gnomes. Not that they had any just yet, only a miserable old jarvey who called him Ankle-Biter and a few pixies, but he had to keep checking. Gnomes made better playmates than flobberworms.

Actually sipping at his tea gave him pause. It was very strongly peppermint, with chamomile and honey instead of sugar. And, he quickly checked, it was Theseus' cup with the griffins and lions decorating the rim. He'd planned this, though probably not the part about accidentally leaving his trousers upstairs and coming down in his underclothes and robe.

The American cleared his throat and took a mouthful from his cup, looking away. He didn't like it. It was obvious, but he was still drinking it and somehow managing to keep his discomfort out of his face. Newt's eyes flicked to his face for a moment, studying it like a particularly interesting creature. It was easier, now that he wasn't looking at him directly, to watch every twitch and shift and micro-expression.

His gaze travelled downward.

The stranger's clothes made for a strange sight, far less flamboyant than dress robes yet not quite the muggle suits Father had kept in the back of his closet. Those had been the perfect material for a fwooper nest, even if he'd vehemently disagreed. He'd found the poor bird with a broken wing and had only been allowed to touch it after days of coaxing. Newt flinched at the memory and took a gulp of tea, drawing the other's attention once more.

"Hello." The American said. His voice was stranger than his clothes, solemn and gravelly enough to feel as if he were a kneazle pet the wrong way. The younger Scamander pulled his shoulders up to his chin, sinking in his seat to return the greeting. He hated it, but politeness was embedded in his marrow. Had always been.

He probably thought Newt was odd, too.

The sound of Theseus' footsteps coming down the hall and growing closer was a welcome relief. His brother swept in with a thousand excuses, finally dressed in an outfit appropriate for receiving guests. He met Newt's narrowed glare with an apologetic smile and an admonishment.

"Newt, you could've at least introduced yourself."

No.

No, he really couldn't have. Instead, Theseus made the introductions with sweeping gestures and without his consent, flopping into an overstuffed armchair near the American.

"Percy, this is my git of a brother. Newt, this is my friend, Percival Graves. Try not to bite him, yeah?" The last part was teasing, he could tell from the ease in his brother's shoulders and the pitch of his voice, but he wasn't particularly keen on entertaining their guest any longer.

He looked up, meeting the newly named Percival's gaze for a split second and taking in the forced smile that looks more like a grimace. Neither of them were used to smiling, it seemed. Theseus leant away from him and towards the intruder with a brilliant grin, nudging his arm.

"Pleasure to meet you." Graves said.

Newt set aside his tea, the cup half full, and uncurled from his own armchair, looking more at his brother than the American who made his skin crawl with a single sentence. His brother was seventeen in three days and if he wanted to replace him, he had every right to. Even if Newt hated it.

"I'm going to check on Artemis." He said.

They let him go without a word, the disappointed look on his brother's face setting his stomach in knots. He didn't go far.

"Sorry about him, Percy. He's always been... picky with people." Theseus said, his voice muffled. Newt crouched down out of the way of the door, his back pressed against the wall. They probably knew he was listening. He was quiet, yes, but his brother knew his habits of overhearing conversations he wasn't meant to. The younger Scamander wrapped his arms around his knees, cheek resting atop one.

He'd heard the pause, of course. Heard the hesitation.

None of them were proud of him, not since his expulsion, but his brother tried not to show it. Something shifted in the room, followed by quiet footsteps and an unidentifiable noise.

"I just hope I haven't offended him completely." Graves. Theseus laughed then, the sound trailing off after a moment.

"Percy, you've barely said three words to the kid. Newt's not one of my mum's hippogriffs; he'll actually listen to an apology before he bites you, for one." They both chuckled this time and Newt wasn't sure if he wanted to run to Artemis and Fido to never hear it again, or go back in and curl up where he could actually feel the laughter. The first option was winning.

"But honestly, just ask him about the creatures he finds and he can talk for hours."

"Like you and wandlore, I imagine?" His brother's name shortly afterwards set his stomach turning. Soft, affectionate in a way Newt never was with humans. The room was quiet for a few minutes and he stood, shakily, quick steps taking him towards the hippogriff's nests at a gasp he didn't want to hear.

If Theseus wanted to court the American, he was fine with it. Honest. He just didn't want to lose his brother completely.

America was too far away for that.

Artemis let him shuffle under a wing with a muted noise, beak preening through his messy hair and nudging him closer. Closing his eyes, the younger Scamander exhaled, rubbing his eyes before burying his fingers in the sleek feathers cradling him like a child once more. He was turning fifteen in December, he shouldn't need this.

And yet, here he was.

Theseus found him like that in the morning, with bits of hay and loose feathers in his hair. He allowed his brother to stand him up and pick them out, sullen and still not quite as awake as he would've liked. Fido churred behind Newt, butting his head against his back.

"You know mum gets worried when you spend the night with the herd." His brother said, smoothing down the lapels of Newt's robes. It was a lie. Mother didn't care how much time he spent with the hippogriffs, if it meant she didn't have to see the failure of the family.

"Are you going to tell Mother you're courting?" He asked. Theseus choked, turning the noise into a coughing fit and flitting his hands over the younger's shoulders. Newt shrugged them off.

"Where in the world did you get that idea?" Laughing nervously, his brother steered him back towards the house.

"I heard you talking to Percival." A beat of silence.

"Newt," Theseus started, voice dipping low as he bent towards the younger's ear, letting the back door close softly behind them, "Percy and I aren't courting. He's my friend, that's all."

He couldn't say friends didn't talk to each other like that. Couldn't say friends didn't sit that close. Or that Mother had told him such behaviours weren't meant to be shared until after an engagement, because Leta had been the same.

There must've been an odd look on his face because his brother squeezed his shoulder, escorting him up to his room and away from the hustle and bustle of the house preparing for the holidays.

"Fine." Newt relented with a huff, pausing in the doorframe. Theseus smiled brightly, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his temple.

"Good. See you at dinner?" The younger mumbled something unintelligible, closing the door behind him, and rubbed the side of his face.

Thankfully, his brother kept Percival's visits short and out of his sight as much as possible after that. Of course, that didn't mean Theseus ever stopped talking about the American often enough to drive him up the wall, but he didn't push any more interaction than a brief hello.

Begrudgingly enough, Newt was starting to like the quiet yet headstrong picture his brother mentally painted. Even during the colourful, meandering tales Graves was as solemn as his name, level-headed in almost perfect foil to Theseus' Grffindor-ish tenacity and usually the one to get them out of a bad situation.

Newt had feared the worst when his brother spent a year in America, the constant stream of letters not even close to managing the fear of him leaving forever. It'd been more than a relief to see Theseus safely back home amongst the furniture, lounging about like he owned the place. Which he would, after Mother was gone. Father had passed after a particularly nasty bout of dragon pox, which had probably prompted his brother's early return.

Newt didn't like to think about that.

Percival was, apparently, the one to come up with the Case for his seventeenth birthday. Mother had formally invited the American, despite the declared war, as well as several other pureblood families. Most declined to attend.

After all, who wanted to celebrate a failure?

The Case had been beautiful, once, but the leather was scarred and the bronze was dark, age creeping in where it feared to tread with his other gifts. The lock for the actual suitcase read 'muggle worthy' if he pulled a small, unobtrusive lever and the interior of the magical one was larger than twice the grounds surrounding the manor. Ugly, for the moment, but huge.

Newt adored it.

"Thank you." The dutiful phrase felt genuine, for once, and he looked up with a shy smile. It didn't last quite as long as the eye contact did, nor did the answering expression seem any less painful, but Graves ducked his head in acknowledgement.

When Percival showed up a week after that to congratulate the younger Scamander on passing the apparition exam with another spelled trinket, well. If there was any shock or hesitation in the American's demeanour after Newt stuck his hand out, heart hammering in his chest, he hid it well enough.

The hand that clasped around his was large and cool against his own soft appendage, callouses on his fingertips and the meat of his thumb. Their handshake lingered a moment too long before they both pulled away, the younger caressing the silver pendant once more. It was in the shape of a Phoenix, metal almost as warm as Graves' hand, and charmed as protection against werewolves and vampires.

Thoughtful.

He disappeared back into the manor after the exchange. Theseus told him, later, that Percival had been disappointed he didn't stay longer. Newt told him to bugger off. He still didn't forgive his brother for the cup incident.

He didn't meet the man again until he was twenty three, for Mother's funeral.

They were both a little rougher around the edges and a little more weary. Between the aftermath of the war and whatever was going on in America these days, it was hard to miss the hard lines on Percival's face and the grey seeping into his hair, the tension in his shoulders visible from across the parlour. He still smiled at the younger Scamander, however, still held himself as if everything was a minor discomfort or annoyance. That was more than reassuring.

The handshake was easier this time.

The nerves in Newt's hand were dead, anyway, lack of feeling preventing him from wincing at the hard grip. He'd heard, of course, of Newt's discharge. Everyone had and Theseus had nearly driven himself over the edge with it. The murmured condolences for his loss meant nothing to the younger, just more words he had to parse through for double meanings. His words didn't grate on the younger's ears as much as they did as a teenager, now that he was becoming used to the pitch, but it still made him almost wince, his skin crawling. Newt smiled at the American, vicious and sharp with more teeth than was, perhaps, necessary.

Percival didn't comment on the American style coat he'd taken to wearing, the pale blue bright enough to serve as a warning most ignored, nor does he say anything about the pendant the younger Scamander still wore. But his eyes lingered and the answering smile was just a bit softer than Newt was used to.

He couldn't stand it.

Newt stayed until Mother was interred in the family mausoleum and her will read. Theseus was made Lord, being the eldest of the Fawley family that had survived, and the younger was left in obscurity with the hippogriffs.

Not that he minded overly much.

Artemis, Fido, and a few of their hatchlings were all that was left of Mother's once proud herd, taking to him like he was a spindly teenager once more. He'd missed them more than he realised, it seemed. They were the first permanent residents of the Case.

The niffler followed soon after.

Newt had caught the thieving rogue sneaking in through his bedroom window and rummaging through Mother's silver for anything that shined. His brother named the creature Sterling when he brought it down for breakfast the next morning, the tired grin sent his way enough to not question it. Besides, it rather fit the proud little thing.

"Newt." Theseus said, pressed against his side with an arm slung around the younger's neck. The muggle ship he was taking across the channel was nearing the dock, thick clouds of steam rising from the exhaust pipes. Newt hummed, gripping the handle of the Case and not looking at his brother. "Promise me you'll come back?"

"Of course." Newt mumbled. This was only prompted by the book deal, he tried to convince himself, and not the restlessness that'd been eating him away since before his stint at the House Elf Relocation Office. Creatures were the only things he could do right by and he'd jumped at the chance to study them far, far away from Britain. Away from his mistakes.

The whistle blew.

Theseus pecked his cheek, muttering under his breath about getting back to his incompetent aurors, before apparating away. Taking a breath, Newt made his way to the docks.

Percival wrote him exactly once, the letter short and severe with heavy-handed penmanship. The American asked after his health and the hippogriffs, as well as the curious creature he'd picked up right before he left for France. Newt had settled in a comfortable muggle hostel near the Seine, recovering from a cold and fully aware of the lingering irony. But he scribbled something droll for himself and nearly three pages worth of unorganised notes on his friends. The owl disappeared after waiting for him to tie the papers to its leg and sneak it some jerky.

He didn't mention that he was keeping the creatures in his Case, or that he was heading to Africa next to study Nundu. It would, inevitably, get back to Theseus, who'd demand that he come home right away. Newt also didn't mention that he'd picked up a greedy little bowtruckle from a street magician in the middle of muggle Paris.

Percival was his brother's friend, not his, he didn't have to tell him anything. Newt didn't have human friends.

He did, however, send a congratulations when Theseus told him the American had become Director of Magical Security. And, if that congratulations contained a little bit more than a letter, no one but the two of them needed to know.

Graves didn't write him back.

Six years of travel and the physical labour of caring for a variety of creatures did him well enough - and loosened the rather pacifist approach he'd taken up since the war ended. Newt had quickly learnt that smugglers and poachers didn't fight cleanly and had adjusted appropriately. Sterling and Pickett were joined by a small herd of mooncalves, a terrifyingly attached nundu, and several other creatures that couldn't be rehabilitated and released.

And Frank.

But the thunderbird didn't count, not really, recovering from a nasty bit of captivity in Egypt and wilder than the storms a single beat of his wings set in motion.

It was only after Theseus wrote that he hadn't received a letter from the Director in a few weeks that he resigned himself to actually go to America. Sure, Newt had to release Frank and pick up an Appaloosa Puffskein for his brother's upcoming birthday, as well as to study a few of the rare creatures found only on the subcontinent, but it didn't actually sink in until he was on a steamship from New Guinea to New York.

He'd been good about this.

Newt had gone through customs instead of apparating in, had gotten all his permits in working order, and even sent out a letter to Theseus at the nearest post office. Which, of course, was where things started to go wrong.

Someone tripped over his case and let Sterling loose, the incorrigible thief running towards the muggle bank nearby, and a woman in a rather tasteless hat had harangued him about being a 'seeker of truth' until he spotted the niffler making a break for it. And it had all culminated with him being dragged through MACUSA by an irate auror.

Newt was never going to hear the end of this.

The Wand Permit Office was unsettlingly loud, situated in the back of a room filled with the clacking of typewriters and the auror's questions weren't helping. The Mr. Graves he met a few minutes later when he was on the brittle edge of a meltdown, feared Director of Magical Security and Theseus' confidante, is not his Percival.

Their posture was impeccably the same and Newt flinched at the steely gaze, more than ready for the lecture Graves was sure to give him in his brother's absence. It didn't come. He didn't smile when the younger Scamander greeted him, far more formal than necessary, nor did he mention anything about Theseus. Or the niffler. Even in the clattering hell that made him want to claw his skin to stop it from shivering, the American pitched his voice wrong. It was smoother, for one, less of the gravelly tone he'd gotten used to, and had the slightest hint of an accent.

That, and he actually asked about the case. It wasn't Newt's, he could tell immediately, but the Director didn't seem to notice. No one could have obliviated Percival without the older man noticing it, or resisting it entirely. And it couldn't have been because they were in a public setting, he hadn't made any sort of reference to knowing him.

Not even a spark of recognition.

Newt fiddled with the end of his coat-sleeve, fingers sliding over the satin lining as if it could comfort him through this much distress. Percival didn't seem to think they were anything of a threat, turning his back to them without so much as a glance and dismissing them.

He swallowed, shifting uneasily. The longer he stayed in the office, the more restless he felt.

 _Imperius_? No, that wouldn't make a person change too many things. And it didn't tamper with memories. Polyjuice was within the realm of possibilities, as were glamours. A simple twist of his wand next they met could check.

Chewing on his lip, the Scamander followed the auror out of the building and immediately set to looking for his Case. His creatures needed him more than Percival did at the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> A not-quite apology for the other fic. I also tried to set it up so they could both be believably in the same vein, but with wildly different outcomes.
> 
> This one draws off a lot of personal headcanon, as well as personal experiences, so that's probably why it might be weird.
> 
> Headcanons that appear here:  
> \- The boys' father is a muggleborn, their mum is a pureblood from the Fawley line.  
> \- Theseus and Percival had a sort of friends with benefits thing going on for the longest time  
> \- Newt is definitely autistic but Theseus also displays a few traits as well, hence the mentioned si in wandlore (he's also way better at passing than Newt is but tends to go through a lot more meltdowns because of it)  
> \- Percival gave Newt the case, but he's definitely improved on the extendable charms inside as well basically creating the environments from scratch
> 
> Feel free to use any of these or elements from this au in your own fics


End file.
